


the way you make me feel (the way i make you feel) is filled with some fire

by thegoldenrin



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: "I'm not a delinquent", Anal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, FTM Mac, Hand Jobs, Locker Room, M/M, Russ Taylor says as he's being a delinquent, Semi-Public Sex, Sleepy Sex, Slight Tac Gear Kink, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:21:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28598358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoldenrin/pseuds/thegoldenrin
Summary: Russ' suits may not be made for delinquency - but he sure is.
Relationships: Angus MacGyver/Russ Taylor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	the way you make me feel (the way i make you feel) is filled with some fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saintsurvivor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsurvivor/gifts).



> more mactaylor!!!!! I love mactaylor!!!!! 
> 
> if u go over to tumblr im currently taking requests @azurelacrima, which I might publish on here as well. and I mean I'll write pretty much anything that's not incest or non-con - including jonahxmac apparently jjfdsjfkd. so yeah go fuckin' crazy with that. 
> 
> thank u a million kel, for always being there and encouraging me to publish literally any of this in the first place - and the driving in circles thing, that's still one of my fave tropes we've used over and over again lmao. <3

Blood thumping through his veins, Mac stumbles through the emptied corridors of the Phoenix Foundation. The late hour and dimmed lights cast everything in an eerie shadow, and his footsteps echo through the empty hallways, even if he can barely hear it through the adrenaline rushing in his ears.   
  
It’s two in the morning on a Sunday, and apart from their team not a single soul is still at work – not even the most stressed of interns. But even Riley has managed to burn out the last of her reserves on the high-energy, back-to-back missions they’ve just returned from, and wandered off in the direction of the communal showers with a yawn and a promise that she and Desi would make sure neither of them drowned. Bozer hadn’t been in the field at all, and so is dreaming peacefully; Matty signed out along with their exfil team, and Russ…  
  
Strong arms wrap around his middle, just as he skids to a stop in front of the men’s shower room, drawing him back into a firm, muscled chest as a bristly chin nuzzles into the most sensitive part of his neck.   
  
“Got you, love”, a husky voice rumbles next to his left ear, before Mac feels his lobe caught lightly between Russ’ teeth. A breathless laugh ghosts out of his throat as the older man pulls at it gently, giving a gentle kitten lick after as if in apology. Mac pushes the door open and drags them both through, before leaning his head back onto his Russ-shaped attachment’s shoulder to mouth wetly at his exposed neck. He can already feel his boyfriend’s growing arousal pressing into his backside, as clever fingers tug at the hem of his shirt, sliding over the newly exposed skin of his stomach.   
  
A shiver goes down the heated line of his spine, both at the feeling of rough callouses rubbing firmly against his abs and the hardness still pushing against him. “Someone’s feeling affectionate today”, he whispers teasingly, voice low and guttural. Russ groans, grasping at the jut of Mac’s hipbones to spin him around to drop their foreheads together, noses sliding against each other intimately.   
  
“Do you have any idea, sweetheart, how… _torturous_ it is, spending entire days in your presence, seeing the flush of your cheeks, so close I could _taste_ the excitement pearling on your skin, and not simply bend you over the nearest available surface to have my wicked way with you?”, he pants, desperate and breathless, lips so close Mac can feel their warmth in his very core. With a low moan, he leans forward to try and capture them with his own, fingers already clenching on in Russ’ shirt at the electric sensation of his beard touching against the bare skin of Mac’s chin, but his boyfriend merely draws back with a low chuckle.   
  
“Uh-uh, darling, let me finish”, he grins, mischievous and handsome and _infuriating_ , fully aware of the effect his words and accent have on Mac, who can already feel the tell-tale heat of a full-body-blush spread across his skin.  
  
Russ’ eyes flutter closed, and with a low groan he lets his right palm slide down along the small of Mac’s back until it rests squarely on his left cheek, fingers flexing to dig in so very, very slowly.   
  
“Do you have any idea how _close_ I came-“, he hisses, left hand moving to fiddle with Mac’s belt buckle, dark brown eyes fixed squarely on his partner’s. He tries to remove his gaze but _can’t_ , unable to let his eyes drift even a single inch, completely transfixed by the intoxicating force of nature that is Russ Taylor. “-how close I came to taking you on that plane? Sweet lord, Angus, I almost couldn’t stop myself, I wanted to – wanted to bloody well ruin you, stand up out of my seat to walk over to yours and shove three fingers right into you, make you squirm and cry on them, until you were _begging_ for my cock- yes, darling, _just_ like that”, he croons, and Mac realizes with a start that those high-pitched mewling sounds are _his_ , desperately trying to push back into the delicious death-grip on his ass and the promise of friction at his front all at once.   
  
Russ finally manages to get his pants open, near enough tears the zipper down as he presses their faces even closer together until everything else fades away in the lightest, faintest touch of lips against lips, openmouthed and heady. They could be standing in the Phoenix showers, war room or the middle of downtown LA for all Mac cares. In that moment, all he can see, feel or _breathe_ is only one frantic mantra of _RussRussRuss_.   
  
He breaks, finally, reaches his limit of teasing, hands flying up to wrap around the back of Russell’s head as he leans in to catch his mouth in a desperate, almost painful kiss, hard and wet and unforgiving. The scratch of his beard against Mac’s face, the growl that reverberates through his chest, the liquid _heat_ climbing steadily in Mac’s gut about to explode without even a single touch…  
  
_If he’d tried, I might just have let him_ , Mac thinks dizzily, sliding shaky fingers through the roots of his boyfriend’s sweat-damp hair, inhaling the intense musk that’s become almost second nature. _I might just let him do anything he wants._  
  
He breaks their kiss with a gasping inhale, eyes fluttering open slowly to stare up into the handsome cut of Russ’ face, burning between his legs too insistent to go ignored any longer.   
  
“C’mon, Russ – _please_ , I need you-“, he whines, hands fisting in the dark strands, but all it elicits is another laugh and his boyfriend leaning down to suck a loving bruise into the side of his neck. Mac doesn’t even realize they’re moving until his back hits the lockers with a metallic _thud_ and a muscled thigh is pressing in between his legs, grinding up into the hot center of want that draws all of Mac’s conscious focus.   
  
Mac loves Russ’ everyday suits, adores watching him dress in the morning, how practiced and capable he looks; but there’s something to be said for Russell Taylor in tac gear and a gun in his hand, looking every bit the powerful and dangerous man he is. For a moment, he almost mourns the absence of a bulletproof vest and his rifle, but then Russ is pressing himself against Mac in a full-body caress, mouths to chests to hips to feet. His arms come up to lean his weight against his elbows next to Mac’s head, wet lips trailing over the expanse of Mac’s slightly beard-burned throat in search of his next mark.  
  
He gasps soundlessly, blue eyes blown wide in sheer arousal, staring up at the ceiling while he does his best not to die on the spot from how good it feels.   
  
“ _Five days_ ”, Russ hisses against his throat, lets the broad of his teeth drag over Mac’s jaw. “Five _fucking_ days, Angus, that’d be too much to ask of a _saint_ – even an hour longer and not even Riley and Desiree would have kept me from you. I’m going to turn you inside out, sweetheart, and the next time Matilda has a stroke of genius like this I’m going to make sure we have our own separate jet-“  
  
Mac can’t help the laughter bubbling up in his throat, because he knows it’s a wildly impractical pipe dream that’d never make it past Matty, but something about the sheer _decadence_ of Russ’ suggestion has his hips pushing into the thigh between them harder, hands trailing down the expanse of his boyfriend’s chest rising and falling heavily with his harsh breaths. His pinky trails across a pebbled nipple that’s evident even underneath the thick material of Russ’ shirt, and he presses down on it with the edge of a fingernail.   
  
“I think”, he rasps out, reveling in the shudder it sends through the frame pressed against him, “that you really like hearing yourself talk.”  
  
Russ stills, leans back to stare down at Mac, eyes liquid black and unreadable, lips cherry-red and spit-slick. His erection is rock-hard where it presses into Mac’s hip.   
  
Kiss-swollen lips twitch into an indulgent smile, so self-satisfied it almost crosses the line into arrogant, Russ lifts his left arm off the wall, lets it trail down along Mac’s body until it hovers just above the open and loose hem of his pants, fingers pointed down at the place where Mac wants them most.   
  
“No, darling”, he whispers, hooking three fingers into where Mac is hot and empty all at once, “ _you_ like hearing me talk.” His palm grinds against Mac’s cock on its downward motion, and the agent can physically feel himself twitch against the broad ridge of muscle.   
  
His head thumps back against the lockers, mouth open on a desperate half-scream-half-moan. The friction inside him feels heavenly after five days of absolutely nothing at all, almost too much; dizzily, Mac wonders when he became so hooked on Russ that five dry days are enough to have him shaking apart just from being fingered a little.   
  
“W- _oooh-_! What are you gonna d-do about it?”, he pants, staring up at the man looming over him, stomach twisting into knots along with the fingers inside him. God, it’s been six months at most, how has this man already figured out every single last button Mac has?  
  
“Hmm, I don’t know yet”, Russ drawls, looking for all the world as if he were talking about the weather, not knuckle-deep inside his moaning and gasping employee. He withdraws his fingers momentarily to draw a wet trail up through the sensitive folds, slides gun-calloused skin against Mac’s cock before he pushes them back in the same way. “I might keep you just like this, see how many times you can come before all that pretty mouth of yours knows how to do is moan and scream. Or I could… take your _suggestion_ that you so thoughtfully made a month ago and go to my knees for you.”  
  
Mac’s brain shorts out, stuck on the mental image Russ paints for him, embellished by the visceral memory of countless times past. Those dark eyes, staring up at him unblinkingly, that skilled tongue winding around Mac’s cock in a wet caress, slipping inside, soft and light but bone-melting all at once, the almost harsh contrast of his beard scratching against his most sensitive parts…  
  
He makes some kind of noise, he thinks, though it’s completely lost on his own brain’s processing capabilities. Long fingers crook inside him, as Russ sighs happily, always a sucker for reducing Mac to his most base impulses.   
  
“Oh, you like that very much, don’t you.”  
  
Mac laughs breathlessly, lips switching helplessly back and forth between a tiny smirk and dropping open on a loose moan. “I – _ah!_ – I thought you weren’t made for that kind of delinquency?”  
  
Stepping back to slide his hand back out of the confines of Mac’s pants, Russ doesn’t waste any time to wipe it dry, instead dragging down Mac’s usual brown slim-fit to his ankles. “Oh no, my _suits_ aren’t made for that kind of delinquency – but seeing as I’m currently so conveniently dressed in tac gear and not about to huddle underneath some poor lab tech’s desk…”  
  
With a snort, Mac toes his shoes off, stepping out of his pants and underwear as he begins unbuttoning his dark blue shirt from the top down, grinning up at his boyfriend. “What, and using your tie as an improvised bondage-rope on me in the broom closet of that gala two weeks ago in New York wasn’t delinquent?”  
  
Warm hands bump against Mac’s fingers on the last button of his shirt, swatting them away playfully as Russ pops it and slides Mac’s shirt off his shoulders, leaving him completely exposed. Pressing his lips closely against Mac’s ear, he lets hot breaths puff out over the heated skin as he begins walking them back, and whispers, “No, Angus, that was merely a demonstration of good taste.”  
  
He wants to retort with some smart-ass quip about Russ’ non-existent delinquency and that one time he drove them in circles on the way home just so he could rub three orgasms out of Mac in the passenger seat of his Bentley, neglecting to use his turn signal even a single time as Mac had proceeded to moan-lecture him about. But before he can even begin to try and cobble the words together, he’s being shifted so the backs of his knees hit the hard wood of the bench in the middle of the locker room, and then Russ is lowering them both down so he can kneel on the floor in between Mac’s spread knees, rough fabric of his tac gear still scratching against bare skin.   
  
He can feel his breathing pick up speed, toes already curling against the cold tile floor in anticipation. Russ presses one last kiss against Mac’s already kiss-swollen lips, and then his head shifts gradually lower until the blond can feel his breath ghost over his swollen cock.   
  
Mac’s head is dropping back on an open-mouthed gasp before Russ’ tongue even touches his sensitive flesh, licking a fat, wet stripe right across, an almost overwhelming shock of sensation with all the pent-up energy of five whole sex-less days. The hardened, muscular tip of his boyfriend’s tongue circles around Mac’s cock, tearing a guttural moan from deep in the back of his throat. He’s floating, head swimming somewhere far away, among the clouds of electric impulses and finger-shaped pressure points being carved out of the skin of his thighs. Russ hefts them over his shoulders, and then he really gets down to it; rearing up so Mac is almost folded in half like a pretzel, supported only by his own shaky and sweaty palms planted squarely onto the hard wood.   
  
Russ sucks his cock into his mouth, worrying gently at it with his teeth along with clever flicks of his tongue that have Mac screaming out into the empty space above, right hand flying up to fist in dark brown hair to push Russ’ face even harder against himself. His boyfriend licks at him, broad, firm swipes that feel like heaven after the tiny, concentrated points of pleasure, before he lifts off again with a low growl.   
  
Mac only has time to squeak in surprise before he’s being rearranged, laid out flat on his back along the bench length, legs hanging off with Russ hovering above his hips, chest wedged between his thighs.   
  
“I want you to scream my name, Angus, to cry and beg for it – only then are you allowed to come”, he promises, voice gravelly and rough, laying one hot palm flat across Mac’s stomach to press down gently while he pushes his face back between his legs and spears two fingers straight into the hot and pulsing center of his body.  
  
Mac jackknifes off the bench, curling over Russ’ head, legs trembling underneath the hot body keeping him pinned. His heartbeat pulses in his ears to the rhythm of Russ’ tongue swiping over his cock, over and over and over again, fingers dragging against his inner walls so _slow_ , and still they have Mac feeling whiplashed. He curls a jelly-like hand around the thick base of his boyfriend’s neck, catalogues the feeling of muscles and tendons shifting underneath the skin, sliding his palm against it just to feel the silken strands of sparse hair slide against his fingers.   
  
He leans back again slowly, legs too weak to really do much in pushing his cuck further against the wet suction around it, and a garbled, destroyed sound that might be Russ’ name escapes his mouth, but his lips are too loose to properly form each individual letter. The answering chuckle Russ breathes into his crotch vibrates through his cock, and then the electricity in his veins is _surging_ -  
  
His boyfriend must’ve felt his muscles draw up against him or felt the tell-tale twitch of his cock underneath his tongue, easing back minimally so he’s no longer directly touching any part of Mac’s privates, the promise of his mouth and beard hovering _just out of reach_. He stares up at Mac, pupils blown wide and black with reverence, and then he pants out a hot, heavy breath and Mac _breaks_ with a shriek.   
  
The brush of air is hard and close enough that it cracks right through him, the last push he needs to fall over that precarious edge; his mind twists into a myriad of colors blurring in front of his eyes, the entire spectrum all at once, as his cock draws up in wave after wave of intense pleasure, something that definitely qualifies as an orgasm without really reaching that proper _peak_. It only builds and builds and builds, inner walls clenching down desperately on Russ’ fingers, until it suddenly cuts off all at once, leaving Mac panting and crying, still with that inexplicable urge to squirm against the blood pounding in his cock and through his insides.   
  
It takes several beats for Mac to calm down again, blinking through the thin film of tears blurring Russ’ face; or maybe that’s the spinning in his head, he can’t tell anymore.   
  
His boyfriend stares up at him incredulously, jaw slack and dropped wide open, sending another twinge through Mac’s already oversensitive cock.   
  
“Sweet lord”, he whispers, fingers twitching apart reflexively, drawing another low whimper from Mac that has Russ’ brown eyes fluttering, breathing heavily as if he’s just run a marathon. God, he must be so hard in his trousers still, Mac can just _picture_ his heavy cock straining against the zipper-  
  
Russ places the flat of his left hand squarely in the middle of Mac’s heaving chest, pushing him back down gently; he groans lowly, so guttural the blond only really processes what he said when his head is already pressed between his legs again.   
  
_Tell me if it’s too much, sweetheart._  
  
The first slide of his tongue back over Mac’s cock is almost too much, a confusing muddle of conflicting signals zapping up through his brain, and when his mouth falls open, even he’s not sure what he means to say, beg for more or less. But his lips form a single word as if on their own accord, a broken cry of _“Russ-!”_ that echoes off the empty walls.   
  
The man dips his tongue deep inside Mac’s body only briefly, spears it between the wet, clenching walls, but travels back up to his boyfriend’s most sensitive point at the weak whimpers begging for more, pressing little kisses against the engorged swell of his cock. The contrast of the mostly dry skin of Russ’ lips further scrambles the receptors of Mac’s brain. He babbles out utter nonsense he couldn’t repeat back later for the life of him, interspersed with the recurring near-scream of Russ’ name.   
  
He gives little kitten-licks that have hot tears trailing into Mac’s sweat-matted hairline, eyes crossing as he stares up at the indistinct grey slate above him. He thinks it’s supposed to be a ceiling, but the way it ripples and pulses along with the churning in his gut would say otherwise.   
  
Russ drags the bristles of his beard against Mac slowly, and usually it would only serve to have him moaning and begging for more, but in his hypersensitized state it feels too much like painful pinpricks and needles. He whines pitifully, and Russ draws back immediately, makes a gentle shushing noise, easing Mac back into the smooth heat of his mouth and pressing a reassuring hand against the jut of his ribs.   
  
This orgasm crests over Mac more slowly, feels like it’s pulled out of him with each drag of Russ’ tongue over him, a hot, tight thing that steadily uncoils in pulses until he’s melting into the bench with an almost inaudible sigh. The hot clutch is still there, but Russ is no longer licking at him, only lets him ride out the aftershocks and twitch in his mouth pleasantly.  
  
He doesn’t really process that his boyfriend has moved until his messy, wet lips are ghosting over Mac’s own, eyes fluttering open to reveal deep brown orbs staring down at him. Their mouths slide against each other, and Mac wants to lift his arms or legs to hold on, but he can’t feel any of them enough to move. His muscles are gone, stomach melted into a hot liquid puddle of pure pleasure.  
  
His senses creep back in slowly, prickling over his skin one by one as he feels the fabric of Russ’ clothes sliding against his skin.   
  
A faint touch of warm lips ghosts over his cheek, and Mac feels his own twitch into a smile at the tickling sensation of Russ’ beard.   
  
“ _Angus_ ”, he sighs, bumping their noses together lightly as Mac pecks at his damp mouth as much as the fog in his mind allows him to. “God… I think you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”  
  
Mac snorts, lifting his hands to clutch at the hard line of his boyfriend’s tense back, realizing only now that Russ is keeping most of his weight off him by hovering just above. It sends a warm surge of affection through his gut, something that might even qualify as another emotion, a four-letter word he hasn’t dared utter aloud yet.   
  
Smoothing his hands down along the ridge of Russ’ spine, Mac smiles giddily, chest still loose and open from how thoroughly he’s been taken apart.   
  
“Mhh – I think – tha’s fair, you’ve just _ruined_ me”, he slurs out, fingers tugging at the waistband of the black tactical pants. Russ carefully lowers his weight until he’s lying just to Mac’s left side, bodies still pressed together without crushing the blond.   
  
“That’s what I like to hear”, he rumbles out against the diamond cut of Mac’s jaw, left hand tracing tenderly along the thin line of scarring underneath his pecs. Mac finally manages to pop the top button open, already reaching for the zipper when a strong hand snakes down to wrap around his wrist, gently but firmly immobilizing. It probably shouldn’t send as intense a shock through his gut as it does.   
  
“You don’t have to do that”, Russ breathes, voice low and raspy with unsatisfied arousal. “I know you must be incredibly tired, darling, and we’ve just gotten off an intercontinental flight, not to mention-“  
  
Mac cuts him off with a close-mouthed press of lips, breathing in their combined musk hanging heavy in the air, Russ’ natural scent unfiltered by his fancy colognes after a week of back-to-back missions right in the thick of things. He lets their lips pull apart slowly, dampened skin clinging to each other as if every inch of his body never wants to let go of this incredible man. Mac is inclined to agree.   
  
He blinks his eyes open sluggishly, admittedly already feeling the post-mission-and-sex adrenaline crash; but next to Russell Taylor, he thinks a gunshot wound would probably be relegated to the backburner.  
  
“That’s sweet of you”, he murmurs, mouths brushing together with every small movement. “But, you see… I really, really want to.”  
  
Exhaling shudderingly, Russ presses his forehead against Mac’s temple, lips twitching into a smile he can’t see but feels against his skin; it feels strangely intimate, even after all they’ve just done.   
  
“Alright”, he whispers, beard scratching against Mac’s cheek so lightly it almost tickles. He shifts his weight until he’s lying half on top of Mac, upper body held upright by his elbow so he can look down at his boyfriend unobstructed, eyeing him with a captivated smile on his face.   
  
And then Mac finally manages to drag his pants and underwear just below the swell of his ass, rock-hard cock bouncing up into the air between them.   
  
It draws his eyes like a signal flare, mouth watering despite the fact he’s just come twice not even five minutes ago; Mac _loves_ Russ’ cock, thick and long, veiny and uncut as it is, leaking head now a dark purplish color with how close his boyfriend teeters to that edge. He swallows thickly, ignoring the hot pull of want in his stomach just from the sight of Russ’ cock hovering over his own.   
  
He smooths the bare skin of his palm across the head, covering it in precome to make the slide of his hand a little easier. The merest touch of skin on skin has Russ dropping his head into the crux of Mac’s shoulder, gasping lowly in pleasure.   
  
He wraps his hand around the straining erection slowly, one finger at a time, pulling over the heated flesh in only the tiniest increments at first, eyes fixated on the way the foreskin drags against the mushroom head on every pass. If Russ fancies himself a tease, Mac can give as good as he gets.   
  
“ _Fuck_ \- Angus-!”, his boyfriend moans, voice gravelly with desperation. Mac’s hand speeds up ever so slightly, sliding all the way up the steel length until his thumb and forefinger are just teasing at the cockhead, drawing back down into the answering thrust of Russ’ hips. It’s mesmerizing, seeing the way he fucks into Mac’s hand, sinuous yet powerful movements of his hips, has him swallowing drily at the thought of witnessing the sheer beauty of it from outside for once.   
  
Suddenly, Mac perks up, mind already running a million miles an hour with an idea that steals his breath away; it takes a little awkward maneuvering, but Russ is so focused on the slow thrusting of his hips that he doesn’t really seem to notice when Mac wiggles his left arm out from underneath his ribcage, still groaning and whimpering into the side of his neck.   
  
Still keeping his tight grip on Russ’ cock, Mac slides two fingers into himself, eased considerably by how wet he is after two consecutive orgasms. He ignores the white-hot twitch of heat in his cock when the side of his thumb accidentally brushes against it, thoroughly coating his fingers in his own come before he draws them out again and slides his arm back underneath his boyfriend’s heaving side, whose thrusts are growing harder and increasingly erratic as he tilts closer to that razor-sharp edge.   
  
Mac intends to send him flying over it with such vigor he won’t remember anything but the feeling of Mac’s skin on his.   
  
Gently, he eases both of his wettened fingers into the cleft of Russ’ ass, whose breath hitches as Mac’s fingertips rub firm circles into the ring of muscle and the puckered skin around it. His head snaps up just as Mac pushes the tip of his middle finger inside, cock jerking in his grip; he looks half-mad with it, with how much he needs to _come_ -  
  
“Bloody _fucking_ -“, he doesn’t finish the rest of his sentence, mouth dropping open on a sharp gasp, hips pushing against Mac’s exposed hip, cock leaking against him, pulsing and twitching in his hand. The blond’s finger slides in up to the second knuckle, hooking in search of-  
  
“FUCK!”  
  
Russ comes with a loud cry, paints Mac’s skin with his release, left leg thrown over both of his boyfriend’s as his body hunches in over his, hips jerking uncontrollably between the iron grip around his cock and the single fingertip rubbing into his prostate, hands digging so hard into Mac’s sides the skin around them turns white and bloodless. And then tension drains out of his body all at once, slumping bonelessly against Mac, face buried into his neck.   
  
Russ’ reassuring weight presses him down into the bench, and in any other context it might’ve been uncomfortable, but tangled with Russ like this, it only has him floating in that faraway place of comfort and warmth and happiness.   
  
After a while, he eases his finger out of his boyfriend’s ass slowly, lips twitching in amusement at the little grunt it elicits; Mac thumps his head gently against the side of Russ’, the ends of his dark brown hair tickling against his jaw.   
  
Sleep is slowly but surely creeping up on him, leaving him loopy and uninhibited – maybe that’s what prompts him to release the already loose grip of his hand around the slowly softening cock, trailing the tips of his fingers through the still warm mess on his lower stomach.   
  
His soft moan alerts Russ to sluggishly raise his head and throw a sidelong glance at the space between their legs, where Mac is pushing three fingers visibly covered in white drops of his come into himself.   
  
His head snaps back up with a punched-out groan, and he captures Mac’s lips almost violently, breathing hard when they break apart again.  
“Fucking hell, Angus”, he hisses, brown eyes blinking drowsily, “you’re going to bloody well kill me.”  
  
Mac chuckles breathlessly, a soft, sleepy sound. “With wha’, good sex?”, he slurs out, eyes fluttering as he scoops up more come, easing it over his cock.   
  
Russ sighs, forehead dropping down against Mac’s, both their skin sticky with sweat and exhaustion. “You joke now, but it’s working like a charm, darling.”  
  
Contrary to his words, his thick fingers knock into Mac’s own, copying him in dipping come-covered fingers deep inside before they finally both still.   
  
“We’ll have to move eventually”, Russ mutters against Mac’s mouth, no real conviction behind his words.   
  
Mac whines lowly, arching up into the hot, still clothed body above his like a lazy cat, spine cracking almost uncomfortably. God, if only he could think through the sludge in his head. “Who says so?”  
  
Snorting out a laugh against him, Russ makes no move to actually keep his word. “No one, if you want to leave a little present for the tac team tomorrow.”  
  
Mac rolls his eyes, huffing with silent laughter. He merely turns his lips into another lazy kiss, breath mingling along with their quiet giggles. They’ll move. Eventually.


End file.
